Wednesday, 30 December 2015

Mummy.

My mother is my real definition of a full woman.

She is the woman who left work every day at lunch time so
she could breast feed each and every one of her children. She is also the one
who held the fort down when my father was away for one scientific escapade or
the other, in one country or another. She is the one who, when asked what he
could bring her each time he was away, always answered with either a certain
set of saucepans or a particular brand of cutlery. I personally would have
asked for shoes or something... My mother is the woman who supported my father
when he was running some crazy experiment in one of the bedrooms, she supported
him even when she didn’t get it. My mother is the woman who still believes in
true love.

My mother is the woman who smuggled a pack of sausages for
us in her handbag during school visitation days when home-cooked food was not
allowed. She is the same person who always called relatives to tell them of an
abrupt plan that needed me to return to Kampala whenever I was upcountry visiting,
felt home sick and needed an excuse to end the visit so abruptly. She is the
one who made me throw away my first black nail polish. She is also the one who
told me my name was from the first woman professor in the world just to inspire
me (I googled it, big lie).

My mother contacted our long lost baby sitter over twenty
years later just because the baby sitter had the right type of popcorn seeds
she wanted to plant in our backyard, just so we could have home grown popcorn.
My mother makes her own jam. She also forced us to learn how to cook
everything, and I mean everything, whether you ate it or not. She bathed me
when I was too weak. I mean being bathed by your mother as a child is one
thing, but try it when you’re over twenty, conscious and sober!! She is the
kind that shows up to watch me in my adult pantomimes, even if she has to stifle
some yawns. My mother turned our house into a home.

My mother is the woman who oozes strength. I have never seen
her beg, never seen her give up, and never seen her defeated. She is the one
who still sees the world in black and white, a clear line between right and
wrong. She is a hard worker, who can’t stay home for more than a day doing
nothing; she would rather start digging or something. She is the woman who will
give away her last coin. She is the one who has taught us to learn huge life
lessons from things as small as a burnt cookie to those as big as death. She is
the kind that will physically dodge the bullets while watching a 3D movie in
the cinema. She will also drink a full glass of wine even though she knows all
she needs is two sips to get her drunk. She is also the kind that made up new
ways for us to cram the periodic table in chemistry and spell really long
complicated words.

My mother is a believer. She gave us the privilege of growing
up in a spiritual environment; gave me the greatest gift anyone could give; salvation.
She is a philosopher; her psychological mind games are second to none. My
mother loves us; you can see it in the way she smiles to herself when she
imitates one of us. She is also the only one who can call me fat, or tell me I’ve
put on more than enough kilos and still get away with it. I would say when I grow
up I want to be like her, but I’m already grown. I don’t have any children yet
so I can’t expertly talk about being a mother and all, but as my mother always
says about my father, I have known true love.